Chapter Text
Godamm elevator. God-fucking-damned elevator.
You see, I’m not exactly scared of small spaces and all that jazz – claustrophobia has never been my thing. Perhaps my father’s, but I can’t stress enough about that disturbing little man these days.
This was all because of him, anyway. The moving a whole country away, just for the sake of never once running into him in the city (or receiving any calls, since he is too cheap to go for international). And yeah, I get it; I’m making it seem as if I’m a real bitch, and although it is title that mostly fits me, that’s not really my position in this situation.
We’ve never been close - that's to say something. He's the narcissistic alcoholic type and it doesn't go well with my petty and smartass nature. One way or another, it ended up with me getting the hell out of that house as soon as I could, and out of the country in the first opportunity that appeared.
There’s just so much life can give me, but the force of the circumstance made me one hell of a director and songwriter. From ghost writing to ghost writing, I made myself quite the name in the industry, and thanks to that, I ended up with an actual solid career. Funny, huh? Some rich popstars want you to write some songs and then, they also want all of your ideas for a music video. And well... Director it is. Strange ride.
Quite the career and quite the money, but only “quite the name” if you work for the music industry or is one hell of a crazy fan (the kind that listens to all of those personal productions being thrown here and there in the internet, that is). Not a lot of fun and happiness, to be honest, but it’s certainly better than not having a lot of fun and happiness in a place where I’m haunted by plenty of entities that I’d rather not face right now. Or ever.
It’s complicated (you probably have that figured out by now).
And so has been life, but it’s good to travel. From job to job, production to production, always in movement and head always filled with work – doesn’t leave much space for thought and sentiment of my own, and that’s just how I like it, but my life is one hell of a cliché narrative, perhaps written by a touch starved forty year old and sold in a cheap corner store.
That’s how I ended up thinking that it would be a good idea to settle down in an apartment in New York. Godamm penthouse. With so much glass, grey, red brick walls and a coldhearted decoration that seemed everything but homey – a place that didn’t seem any better than the hotels I’ve spent such a long time in.
It got better as the weeks passed by, of course. I turned what was supposed to be the master suite into a tiny studio, protected by soundproof walls and packed with all of my production equipment. Neither the building owner or the neighbors enjoyed all of the disturbance I caused while making the changes, but for all of the money I’ve spent in the place, they had to shut up and have patience (it’s not like I had construction workers hammering the ground at 2a.m., anyway). And well… The person whose apartment was right in front of mine wasn’t in town during the whole process, so I felt less guilty about being so annoying.
When we settled the deal during lunch, my rich and wolfish landlord was proud to share with me that my neighbor was the CEO of Anvil, and that sometimes he’d go weeks or months without even showing up in the place; that he served in god knows how many operations.
Now, being a foreigner, that meant absolutely nothing to me. Later on, when I had the curiosity to search for “Anvil”, I assumed that what he meant to brag about was that my neighbor was a marine who owned a company for security and training – therefore, my pretty newcomer’s ass was safe and sound.
“Have a good night of sleep, knowing full well the man you share your thick walls with is a well trained killer who probably has PTSD and one hell of a weapon collection”.
I know, overlooking is an extension of my personality; you’ll get used.
But as it is, I didn’t give it much thought. After all, my baby grand piano was placed in the living room, the guitars, violins and cello arranged nicely on the wall, the plants were well distributed in the large main balcony, the console piano placed in the back porch with the rest of the plants and my bedroom ended up being what was supposed to be the guest room.
I don’t need too much space, after all: I grew up in a house the size of my new living room (who would’ve guessed, huh?) with four insane people.
So back to this very day: god-fucking-damned elevator. For all that price and technology, it’s almost offensive that the elevator would stop midway in the middle of a stupid blackout – and the major offense isn’t even being god knows how many feet up in a elevator shaft. The problem is that it had to happen right now, getting me stuck with my charmingly intimidating neighbor in the first time we ever met.
He’s silent, but I have good ears: last night, I heard his door being opened for the first time after three weeks living in here; heard some muffled sounds that were hard to describe, but meant that there was a human cohabitating in the same floor as I was. And it was a little unnerving, if I am being honest: it’s hard to play and sing, being fully aware that a stranger might be hearing.
I ended up going to sleep earlier – and for that matter, I had some serious work to do the following morning, anyway. There was a meeting with fine producers to discuss a new Disney musical, to which I had been invited to write some songs and do art direction for (something I’ve been trying to play cool, but failing a little).
So I woke up humored, today. Wide smile, hands reaching to pet my soft and fresh sheets and not giving a single damn about the way my hair was sticking strangely to the sides; despite the chronic ache in my low back; this was a good day, or so I hoped.
That good mood was until I stepped out of the apartment and noticed the man in the opposite side of the lobby, doing literally the same thing. And no, I’m not exactly charming and one hell of a company, but I’m well mannered enough to smile and wave to people when we lock eyes and say good morning.
The CEO (god, I can’t remember what Wikipedia called him) is way younger than what I pictured. That’s probably because this denomination, “CEO”, always makes me think of depraved rich old men, who prey on their assistants and daughter’s friends. I guess I didn’t consider the piece of information implying that he was a marine; therefore, I didn’t come to mind that my neighbor would be a incredibly beautiful man with dark eyes and a intimidating tall figure.
It wasn’t part of my already low expectations.
I had to move after he smiled back, of course. There was still a fucking meeting waiting for me in some part of this still unknown city, and a bottle of red wine in the counter just in case everything worked out well and I decided to celebrate on my own (something that I’ve done a lot, since leaving town).
It wasn’t until we both got into the elevator that he spoke – I’m not exactly a psychologist, but I’m good at reading people, and the way his posture fixed by my side meant that he was about to talk. Overlooking, right?
–Miss Y/L/N. I was informed about you moving in here three weeks ago. –The neighbor said that with a dangerously charming smile creeping up the corner of his lips. For his credit, perhaps it was the whole black three piece suit situation that made him more intimidating; where I’m from, men only wear suits in weddings or inside their coffins. –And I might have heard from someone that you’re not exactly quiet and peaceful, so far.
–Hm… The landlord said my neighbor was a marine, but I guess he failed to mention that I was also being investigated.
Like most times, the sass makes it’s way out of my mouth before I can even process the words. I’d say it is a defense mechanism that I developed back home, and touching the subject of the neighbors being angry about the noise I’ve made in the construction and adaptations doesn’t help.
The comment doesn’t seem to rub him off the wrong way, after all. In reality, his smile gets a little wider and he’s almost replying, but then, it fucking happens.
It’s as if god (one that I don’t even believe in, by the way) pulled me up by the hair while the rest of the world started falling – it’s a solid impact, but not strong enough for the two of us fall down. The white led lights from the elevator are almost instantly replaced by the red light form the “emergency” sign, and it’s right then and there that I know I’m absolutely fucked.
Not that I don’t think it’s cool to spend some extra time with a hot guy who seems to be flirting with me, definitely not that. Maybe it’s a little about being confined in a tiny red space with a man that probably has PTSD and might not deal well with unexpected situations. Maybe it’s about the perspective of missing a meeting with Disney producers that might mark forever my career; losing a full day of the coolest part of the job (discussing art, scenarios, costumes, color palettes and all that good stuff). Maybe…
Yeah, maybe I am a little claustrophobic after all.
For good measure, my neighbor looks totally unbothered and, so far, there are no PTSD breakouts in the elevator (maybe there are; maybe someone’s having a panic attack in the elevator, but it’s certainly not my pretty neighbor). He also seems to understand I’m panicking a little, so he’s the one to move and select the emergency button. As I expected (the both of us, I guess), nothing really happens; the coms don’t work. I’d get my phone out, if it meant anything, but I don’t think the phone numbers I have on my mailing list would be helpful at all.
Again, it’s the neighbor who appears to have all the answers. He calls someone who doesn’t take long to pick up and in the silence on the elevator, I can hear how the quick conversation goes.
“The power is out in the whole city”. Something to do with crazy vigilantes and strategic bombings, meaning that there’s no prevision of when the power is coming back – short to “oh ya stuck there for a while, my bad” and I hate it. I purposefully left the house one hour before the meeting, just so I wouldn’t get there too early out of anxiety, but the stupid plan totally backfired. From that very second, minutes would flyby way quicker than they would have in a different situation; that is to say that I’d clearly miss the damn meeting.
–You have it all figured out.
His voice pipes up again, but this time, it’s apparently directed to me. Figured out? What exactly do I have figured out? And wow, now that I’m back at it, why is he so tall? Oh... Right. So I might have unconsciously sat down in the floor during what might have been a breakdown. Who knows?
–Yeah, I’m not really wearing the most expensive suit I own right now, so I don’t really feel bad about sitting on the not-so-dirty floor. –Not that I’m wearing a suit, to start with. In reality, it’s a rather cheap blue shirt that I bought at the mall paired with yellow pentacourt pants (a strangely cute combination that made me feel like Dory, from Finding Nemo). And considering the old ratty brown bag crossing my chest and the transparent binder, I might as well look like I don’t own an expensive suit at all. I do have some.
–I guess my expensive suit can deal with a little bit of “not-so-dirty” floor. –Again, my blatant sarcasm didn’t seem to bother him at all, as the neighbor smiled down at me again and sat by my side, pocketing his phone. –My name is Billy, by the way.
–It’s very nice to meet you, neighbor. –I nodded and smiled at him once more (all this sass can’t take me anywhere). That is a really nice and expensive looking suit, very well fitted in a equally good looking guy, whom I’m stuck with not only in this elevator, but in the same floor until one of us decide to move the hell out of this building (probably me, seeing as I’m not really good at sticking to places). –And for the record, I’m not that bad. I just needed to do some reparations in the place and had some workers coming in.
–Reparations? They gave you the place all messed up? –By the frown that installs itself in his pretty face, he’s clearly assuming that the landlord gave me a broke apartment. It was far from that.
–Uh, no, not really… I turned the master suite into a studio, and then, I had to turn the guest room into the master suit.
–Studio?
–Yeah. I am a songwriter. –And I braced myself for the skeptical look or the poisonous smile; the one I usually receive whenever the rich people I interact with realize I don’t come from old money or am a celebrity (in their society, it’s the only way to be acceptable. People like me might have the money, but certainly don’t have connections, and that’s just poor). –And art director. I do more writing than directing, but that’s just circumstance.
–That’s a first. –Billy smiles and nods in my direction, as if he’s complimenting me. I mean. Now that’s a first. –Don’t think I ever met a songwriter before. I don’t know much about music, so I don’t really know how this thing works, but I’m going to take a wild guess.
–And you’ll probably be right… So yeah, there’s that. –I took the moment to decide how to proceed and confess about the disturbance I mostly cause to him. That’s your neighbor, after all. –I have a piano in each side of the penthouse. Guitars everywhere; I really have lots of instruments and speakers in almost every room. I play the whole day, every day, and sometimes during the night. I can be… Very loud. But I can totally tone down the playing-during-the-night thing and if you’re ever bothered, you can totally come over and ask me to stop. And the studio is soundproof, but it wasn’t professionally planned, so it’s not really good.
I can be loud, but also talk very quickly when I’m nervous. That he got in anything I said at all is already good, but the fact the he doesn’t really seems bothered by what I said is the actual shocker.
–So they were right after all: you’re not exactly quiet and peaceful.
–Yeah, you got me there.
–Don’t worry about it. I’m not always home, and I guess that I could use some music when I am. –Smirking! That’s the word I’ve been looking for: smirking. It’s like he’s constantly smug about something, regardless or being genuinely nice to me. Confident guy, wearing an expensive suit, fresh out of his penthouse apartment; it’s not exactly a shocker or remotely out of place. It’s… Fitting. Like what the result of a marine that becomes a CEO would be, I think.
–Sure. And well… I don’t think your line of work can possibly get in my way somehow, but I heard you own a security company?
–Yes. Anvil does a lot of contracting, but we also do training, drills and most recently, P.I and missions.
Oh, there it is. That short, however very practical explanation is enough to send horrible pictures of blood, screams and gunshots into my mind; always overlooking and negative mind. In this goddamned city, chances are I’ll step out of the apartment right in time to watch as the neighbor leads some really dangerous people into our doorstep. New York is not for the faint of heart, and certainly not for those who are trying to get away from violence – but here am I.
–Yeah, not to be offensive or something like that, but now it does sound like your job might get in my way. You don’t bring much work home, do you?
–Not if I can stop it. There’s nothing to worry about; that’s kind of the whole point. I keep people safe.
–If you say so, marine.
And there was this strangely comfortable silence that followed for some time that I can’t really determine – comfortable to some extent, as in the perspective of being hung in a elevator shaft wasn’t exactly pleasant, and that with the psychedelic red light shining against my eyes like a constant threat to give me a seizure. And the meeting – the godamm meeting that I’m definitely late to, by now.
And in the middle of my internal monologue, I can sense that Billy is saying something, but my brain can’t really place what. The deep, enticing voice is there, but no words are put together.
–What was that?
–Claustrophobic. –He pointed at me and threw his head back, as if he was trying to take my face in. –Are you claustrophobic? You look sick.
–I mean, you can see anything at all with the red light?
–It’s not that bad.
–Of course, marine. –I cut him short e nod back, although I’m not really sure why. –Not claustrophobic, I think... But I have a meeting and I’m not a fan of being stuck in spaces, especially the tiny ones.
–That’s… That’s pretty much the definition of claustrophobia. Would you feel better if I moved to the other s…
–I am not… I’m… I just need to get out of here, so I’ll be back at it.
–That’s the whole problem: we’re not getting out anytime soon. –He said that very clearly, and I guess it was the first time I took a look at myself and realized how stupid this probably looks like for him. –I think you’ll feel like you have more space if I move to the other side.
And just like that, I no longer have a beautiful and charmingly intimidating man sitting by my side, but his idea is… It’s actually very good. It really seems like I have more space and it is way less overwhelming (although I hate to admit it. I’m claustrophobic; I don’t want to be). So apparently my neighbor, the marine CEO, is actually pretty good at taking care of people, although I’m pretty sure the “taking care” he mostly does involves shots and death. A lot of fun.
–Thank you. –It’s low enough to be a whisper, but there’s no way he can’t hear it.
–It’s ok. –I can see that Billy is shrugging, a relaxed expression printed onto his now red face (I must really be overreacting). Moving over to the side doesn’t mean much, considering that the elevator isn’t big at all. His body is for feet away from mine, at best, but it’s still close enough. –Don’t worry about that meeting. If this is what I think it is, I’m sure whoever you’re seeing won’t make it to the streets either.
–You’re talking about the bombings?
–That too. –He nodded and looked at his own hands, as if something was supposed to be placed there. A gun, perhaps. Oh, god... –I’m pretty sure this is going to be a hellish day of work.
–Well, good luck with that. –I tried to salute (and I don’t even know which hand you should use) and offered a sympathetic smile. Training, security, missions and investigation: I bet the Anvil crew is having fun today. That, besides their boss being stuck in a elevator with me. –It sucks to lose or post-pan this meeting again. I’m writing and directing art for this new musical Disney is trying to produce, but I can’t go far if all I got so far are emails and pieces of the script.
–Sounds like you need a drink. –He said that with a charming smile, although the kind eyes were still there, apparently searching for something that I can’t quite place.
–I’m not big on alcohol, to be honest with you. –I smiled back and closed my eyes. It’s way better, not being able to see the red lights; they are disturbing. –But you’re right, I might need a drink.
–I’d do the honor of helping you if I didn’t have to run off to work the moment these doors are open.
–Understandable, marine. –I nod once again, trying to fight a smile of my face. He’s either flirting or is just really nice, and I happen to enjoy both options. –I have red wine waiting for me in the counter, anyway.
–So you’re good.
And that conversation was supposed to stop there. My poorly developed social skills aren’t good enough for long term interactions with people I can’t talk business with, but for some reason, Billy’s charming personality keeps me – us talking.
He’s surprised to know that I just came in town (apparently, I have little to no accent) and I’m surprised to learn that he’s not as much of a snob as I would have figured. No adorned words, no fluttering, no bullshit… From what Billy briefly said, he grew up in orphanages and foster homes, then became a marine and lastly, built Anvil. He’s not from old money, that’s for sure, and this perspective makes me like him a little more (all that with essentially poor people distrusting rich people, for what it’s worth).
And we keep talking, talking, talking… He “wants” to know about that thing I’m directing, I want to know about his company, about the city, about the building, the landlord, his opinions on printed ties… Yeah, I told you about the poorly developed social skills.
And I’m so, so late to that stupid fucking meeting. There’s absolute no service, which means no way of telling anyone about being stuck or receiving any cancelation calls, so we just sit there for one or two more hours, talking more and more random non sense (if I were any better at this, I would have flirted my way out of this elevator, but my blob fish like personality isn’t helpful at all) until he phone rings again.
I try not to pry on whatever he’s talking about, but considering I get the impression that Billy is the kind of man that has lots of contacts and information, I get my hopes up that he’s getting more info about what is happening around the city – and how in the hell he’s got service?
But the voice in the other side isn’t loud enough to hear, from where I’m sitting. His words aren’t better than cryptic, so it doesn’t give me any clues, but I get the name “Madani” being thrown somewhere. By the scarce context I have, she either works with him or is something of a police officer (I have no idea about how these ranks work in this city).
When the call is finally over, my neighbor has a strange look on his face, like his charming posture is being forcefully put together. I’m not good with people, but I can tell there’s something wrong and I don’t want to be part of that.
–We’re getting out of here in a minute. –Billy tilts his head in my direction and tucks his phone somewhere in the suit; I try not to look. With my lack of response (or, apparently, understanding), he goes back to explaining. –They need me somewhere, so my friends are getting us out now.
–Your friends? And they can, like… Just do it?
He doesn’t answer, but the smile that creeps it’s way into his face very pointedly says “Well, that’s a dumb question”, so I don’t press any further and just sink lower into the ground. I’m terrible with people, I’m terrible with men, I’m terrible at not being stupid.
I don’t really know how it happens, but it’s like there’s something in me that stops people (mostly men) as viewing me as attractive person they’d flirt with – it always ends with the brotherly like relationship.
It wasn’t always like that, but considering the only and last time it didn’t happen, I’d rather not count it in at all.
True to his word, it doesn’t take more than ten or fifteen minutes for some loud noises to startle us on the outside. I don’t want to stress enough about what they’re doing to forcefully open the doors, but it’s hard not to flinch at the loud screeching noises that they cause (ok, I might have closed my eyes through the whole process, imagining the elevator collapsing into the shaft).
When the doors are finally open (or partially so), the elevator is still three feet above the ground, so we need to hop out of it; I do it gladly.
There are three people waiting for us on the other side: this huge black dude that apparently has a prosthetic leg, an stoic and tough looking guy wearing camo pants and this intimidating however beautiful curly haired woman. So for all I know, my neighbor has a strange set of friends (so far, he’s doing way better than me, seeing as I still haven’t made a single friend in this godamm city) that need him for something.
Camo-pants-guy has a gun attached on his hip, so maybe I don’t really want to know what is it they’re up to right now.
–Got unlucky for once, Russo? –Curly doesn’t smile at all, but something about her almost passive face and Billy’s smile tells me that they’re just bickering at each other.
–Not at all. This is my neighbor Y/N, anyway. –Billy says and tilts his head in my direction, folding his arms. –Y/N, these are my friends. Madani, Frank and Curtis.
–Bad circumstance, but it’s nice to meet you. –I try to say with a smile, but their response doesn’t help all. I mean, the guy I suppose is Curtis smiled back, but Madani and Frank appear to be terribly stoic and intimidating (and that doesn’t work well with my easily scared, jumpy brain).
–Ignore the sunshines. –I can see Billy is rolling his eyes, but he doesn’t stay put for longer. –Well, this is still the fifth floor, so we need to get down and get going. Y/N, it was nice to finally meet you, but I have to… Well....
And then the dumbass just went for the stairs like I didn’t have to go through them as well, followed close behind by his friends, who barely nodded in my direction as they went. I still had the decency to not run down the stairs with them and just stayed way behind, avoiding any more awkward situations. Godammit, I had forgotten how much I hate drama – this is so not the reason why I came into this city. Goddam fucking elevator – godamm neighbor.